Worse, I Think I'm In Love
by Emono
Summary: So he hadn't planned it, and when he did plan it, he just managed to screw it all up and suddenly he's not sure he ever had a chance. Angst up to a point, then a delicious smutty happy ending! Promise! SLASH!
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Worse, I Think I'm In Love  
**Author**: Emono  
**Rating**: FRM  
**Fandom**: Wrestling  
**Pairings**: John Cena/The Miz  
**Summary: **So he hadn't planned it, and when he did plan it…everything just got twisted up and sharp and suddenly he had lost a chance he was never sure he had in the first place. Happy ending!  
**Disclaimer**: The WWE is not mine nor are any of it's child branches, it is the 96% property of the McMahon's and God bless the bastards that work for them. I respect the sexual preferences and identities of all the wrestlers on WWE roster, and who they share a bed with is really none of my business.  
**Warnings**: Spoilers before and _for_ The Bash 2009, character analysis, touch of angst, slash, happy ending

**AN:** Ok, here's a shot at this couple. I love them, they're hot, even though we all know Miz is fucking Swagger. Not the point (though if you like that couple, I have a little series of those ficlets on my profile you can check out.) Shameless promoting aside, I started re-watching the WWE a little bit after The Bash, so I missed the entire feud that led up to it. I own the DVD, so all details of the before feud came from the build-up promo before the actual match.

* * *

It's not like he planned it.

Miz came into the WWE after that horrible reality TV show, wanting to fulfill a dream he'd had since he was a Twist-of-Fating his cousins on the trampoline in his Grandma's back yard. He struggled to make a name for himself. He cut down on the partying to train, to lift more weights than he ever had, to push himself that extra inch. He worked on his signature moves more than he'd like to admit, and he even made them a bit risky (he'd hurt his knee a bit more than he'd admit either.)

Then Be Jealous was formed, and he was in the spotlight. The belts were more amazing than they looked on TV all that those years, and he couldn't stop himself from gyrating all over his hotel room in nothing but the belt and a pair of boxers. John became his best friend in half no-time, and they did everything together. He was _so_ cool. Nothing could mar the perfection of John Morrison, from his impeccable taste in music to the glitter on his abs.

The Draft snuck up on them both. Before Miz knew it, his belt was gone and Morrison had cost him an important match. Hurt and confused, he screamed at his friend back stage and demanded a reason. With John's soft-spoken reply that he hadn't wanted to see him hurt, Miz knew he couldn't stay mad. They made up, but when The Draft finally came it messed with their friendship. Morrison was kind of annoyed that he got the honor of going to _RAW_ while he himself was put on _Smackdown_.

An honor? What the fuck ever! Miz found himself suddenly put into a locker room with a bunch of guys who either hated him or thought he was a joke. He recognized some faces from TV and WWE roster get-togethers, and he knew only a scant few personally.

Jack wanted nothing to do with him right off, informing him in that stupid lisp that he was a nobody and Jack Swagger was going to make a real name for himself. Evan had become a huge face with the audience, and was advised by several people not to be seen with him.

Somehow, Miz found himself a heel…a villain among heroes.

Shit.

That first episode, that first _live_ event, was when he fell in love.

Miz had just been sitting there in his wrestling pants, minding his own business and lacing up his boots. He had been looking for his fedora earlier, but it was nowhere to be found. No worried, he had a back-up in his locker. He felt someone approach him, but again he didn't give it a second thought.

Tennis shoes and denim filled his vision, the man stood right there in front of him. Miz slowly lifted his head, his ice blue eyes meeting warm azure.

" 'Sup, man."

John Cena…standing there in front of him. Smiling, cool, larger than life…his brain shut off.

"Mike, right?"

Miz nodded slowly, his foot dropping to the floor with a heavy thump.

"I'm John."

//I can't breathe. Say something, moron!//

Miz wet his lips, trying to relieve his cotton mouth, "I…I know."

//Real smooth, dumb-fuck.//

"Cool" John held out something, and the younger man had to seriously concentrate so he could see that it was clearly his sparkly flame fedora "Here."

"Uh…" Miz blinked up at him, feeling ridiculous "How'd you get that?"

"The Rhodes brat was sneaking off with it" John chuckled, like he couldn't believe it but didn't expect anything else "From the look on his face, he was either gonna dip it in white-out or beat off to it. I dunno, I don't _pretend_ to understand him or DiBiase. But, hey, what can I do? Rhodes considers me a friend, so I entertain the kid. It's not hard, he's got the attention span of, like…a fly."

Miz cursed the sudden tremble in his fingers, giving them a firm flex before reaching out for his hat. When he curled his fingers around the brim, his pinky _just_ brushed Cena's fist. His heart skipped two beats and his face flamed, just at such simple contact.

"Keep your eyes on that" John winked, grinning down at him "Some of these jackasses like to steal gimmick-stuff."

Dear God, those _dimples_!

John glanced at the clock, pulling a face, "Shit, gotta get. See ya, man."

John went off, disappearing through the lockers.

Miz put the back of his hand to his cheek, brow creased in astonishment at the heat there.

No, he didn't plan this at all.

_+++JCxMIZ+++_

Miz was sure it had been a fluke, pure and simple. It was his first show, John was nice to him, so his body reacted to the act of kindness. That was it, there was nothing there. He didn't feel a thing for John Cena, nope…not him. He buried his head in the proverbial sand, crossed his arms and refused to give it another moment of his time.

Until…

Mike was prone to migraines. Not hospital-level-eight-dehydration migraine, but enough to make him dizzy and put him out of commission (not to mention it kicked in his photosensitivity.) Unfortunately, one of these hit him rather suddenly at a house show. He had been making his way toward the entrance, he had a match with Primo, when the faint tingling in the back of his neck exploded into a full-frontal fire.

Miz gave a short, sharp yelp and doubled over himself. He cradled his head between his palms, the ache filling up his head like marmalade and weighing heavily down upon him. His hat clacked to the floor, his feet giving way beneath him when he tried to stumble forward. He kept his eyes clenched shut, crawling until his side hit the wall. It was mercifully chilly against his skin. Miz pressed his forehead to it, yet the pain remained in his temples.

Twin tears escaped his eyes under the sudden pressure, and Mike couldn't bring himself to man-up when he couldn't stand to open his eyes.

_Mike?_

Miz swore he heard his name, his given name at that. It fizzled out, blocked by the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears.

_Mike, you ok?_

A cool palm laid over the back of his neck, drawing him away from the wall. Light flooded his lids, threatening his sensitive eyes. Someone was asking him something, inquiring about his health, in this perfect masculine voice. Just enough depth, smooth like good whiskey…it didn't hurt his head.

"What happened?"

"Migraine" Miz replied, teeth grit "Everything hurts."

"Come on."

Strong arms lifted him to his feet, and his legs went weak on him.

"It's ok, I got ya. Wrap your arms around me."

Miz murmured his thanks, his arms around the man's thick shoulders. Sunglasses slid onto his face, shielding his aching eyes. He found himself lifted up quite easily, trying not to make a noise of surprise or protest for fear of aggravating his head further. He was carried out of the area, away from his match.

Miz ended up with his head half-buried in the man's neck, eyes shut in pleasure now instead of screwed up in pain. A musky, Gillette scent flooded his senses, coating his palate teasingly. He didn't give a thought about parting his lips and mouthing the thick line of throat bared to him. Lust sparked in his belly when he tasted the heat beneath his tongue, the skin smooth. He felt a shiver go through the man carrying him, his own body responding to the kind gesture and the warmth.

"Take it easy on me, Miz" the man laughed.

Miz's heart stopped realizing just who it was as he was taken into a room. With a brush of his shoulder, the lights were dimmed and some of the ache disappeared.

"Cena?"

"In the flesh" John laid the younger man down on the couch, making sure he was comfortable "If you feel as bad as you look, you should stay here."

Miz wanted to laugh, joke it off, but his head was throbbing while his mind was frozen in shock.

John eased the sunglasses from the man's eyes, folding them into his shirt collar. Mike looked over the man standing before him, ice blue eyes wide.

//I just _suckled_ John Cena.//

"Need anything?" John inquired, acting as if nothing had happened "Tylenol? Need me to get a trainer to look you over?"

Miz shook his head, indicating he was fine when he was shaken up on the inside.

John gave him that dimpled smile and he melted right there on the couch, "Pay more attention next time. Our bodies give us signals when we're gonna shut down. Later."

John left him alone in the dimmed room with his thoughts, shutting the door carefully behind him.

Miz curled up on the couch, clenching his eyes to block out the world.

He couldn't bury his head in the sand any longer, he had to face this head-on.

_+++JCxMIZ+++_

Miz waited until the next _Superstars_ taping before he decided to lay his feelings out to examine them carefully. He needed help to fix these things, and there was only one man he trusted with himself like this.

John Morrison walked into his shared dressing room, finding his best friend slumped on one of the benches.

"Mikey!" Morrison smiled, though it faded when he saw how pale his friend was "You look horrible, man. Are you ok? You hurt?"

"Worse" Miz scowled "I think I'm in love."

"Oh, you poor baby, you've got it so rough" John scoffed, stripping off his gold wrestling pants "Life sure deals you from the bottom of the deck, huh?"

"…with John Cena."

John's expression changed instantly. He thought it over as he stripped off his clothes, pulling a fresh outfit. As he changed, Mike ducked his head and let his friend mull it over. John paused at the fly of his jeans, looking up.

"Are you sure?"

"I dunno" Miz raked a hand through his hair, not caring that he messed it up "Some things have happened."

John raised a brow at him, "What kind of things?"

Miz flushed, giving the man a nasty look, "Not _those_ kinds of things, perv. He's been real cool to me…ad I always did think he was so damn awesome on TV…"

"Cena? You sure?" John plopped down beside him on the bench, shirtless and confused "Really?"

"Maybe."

"Start at the beginning" John sighed, tugging on his tennis shoes "And when you get to the end…stop."

Miz didn't even twitch at the _Through The Looking Glass_ reference, he wasn't in the mood.

This concerned his friend, "I mean it, man, tell me."

"I'd never been that close to him before" Miz began, folding his knee up to his chest so he could play with the torn seam at the cuff "He came up to me before a match, my fedora had gone missing. He came up and…I couldn't breath. My chest got tight, my throat closed up, and couldn't get more than four words out. He was so…I didn't know what to do with myself. When I walked away, I realized I was blushing. I tried to write it off as a fluke, I seriously did. And then…"

Miz ducked his head, "I got this migraine, and he carried me to a private room so I didn't flail around in the hallway like an idiot. I…I may have kissed his neck a little…"

John wet his lips, "And?"

"…I liked it."

"Wow, ok then" the ravenette rubbed the back of his neck, mulling it over "What are you gonna do about this? Are you going to go after him or admire from afar and slowly kill yourself or what?"

"I dunno" Miz shrugged "That's why I came to you. I need your help. I don't know what to do with myself, I'm fucking lost here!"

"Damn" John took a deep breath, thinking it over "If you love him, you should go after him. He's a great guy, those dimples are enough for anyone."

"How?" the younger man asked dejectedly, feeling adrift and floatie-less "How can I get him to look at a guy like me that way? I mean, I know I'm not turning anyone to stone, but I think he's a little out of my league. I need plan."

They sat in silence, one thinking over the situation and the other trying not to over think it all.

"I know!" John stated suddenly, scaring his ex-tag team partner "I got it, man. I know how you can convince him you're worth hooking up with!"

//I didn't say I was unworthy// Miz narrowed his eyes at his best friend //But whatever, that's cool too.//

"Ok, let's hear it."

"You can feud with him!"

Miz blinked…then blinked again…blinked, then furrowed his brow.

"…what?"

"You can ask Stephanie to write in a feud for the two of you" John began, sounding a little too excited on the prospect "Cena's known for hooking up with people that've stood up to him. Let's look at his last four lovers…Edge, Jericho, Shawn Michaels, even that couple week stunt with The Hardy Boyz. He loves a good fight, a challenge."

"I can't do that" Miz stated in a near whisper, then escalading into an angry hiss "That's the exact opposite of what I want, glitter-butt!"

"You asked me for my advice and that's it" John stated finally, getting up off the bench and grabbing his duffle (which he filled with his crap) "I say you should start a feud. You'll get some one-on-one in the ring, he'll start feeling on you, and realize suddenly that he wants your ass. Once you get him in your bed, you can ensnare him with your Real Deal Sex Appeal."

Miz chewed the side of his lip, "Are you sure, man? This sounds like it's gonna be a high-stakes game."

"It is" John shrugged "But hey, I'm not the one playing it."

Morrison left him alone in the locker room, gaping after him.

//The people I surround myself with// Miz groaned, digging his fingertips into his scalp //But maybe he has something there. Maybe if I show him I can be passionate…it'll attract him the same way it did to Shawn. He really seemed to love that guy, even though Michaels betrayed him in the ring.//

So Johnny had a point, he needed to start a feud with Cena.

Ok, he could do this.

_+++JCxMIZ+++_

It took Miz some time discussing with Stephanie McMahon and some of the writers with _RAW_, but they soon enough found a patch of middle ground.

So The Miz went out there and mocked John Cena openly, calling him a poser and making fun of his vast fan base. Even making a crack about his movies (though he knew that was a low blow, because he'd seen _The Marine_ at least seven times.) Called him a corporate puppet, dressed up in Cenation gear and waved his hand in front of his face on camera.

Those clothes were still in his closet, actually.

But no matter what he did, Cena ignored him.

"_What do I have to do to get you in this ring?"_

This was when Mike was forced to take "The Miz" into the next level, to full-on play his persona until it consumed him. He mocked, he screamed, he did _everything_ The Miz is supposed to do. And in that mindset, he apparently decided it was ok to declare himself the winner of a match that never really was. He'd call Cena out, he'd be ignored, and then he would say he had won by forfeit. It wasn't _right_, but that wasn't the _point_.

Around the "_The Miz: 4, Cena: 0_", Mike almost broke.

He came back from the ring in full Cenation gear, from the shoes to the "_U Can't C Me_" cap and bands and everything else. Mike's grin dropped as soon as he was backstage, muscles aching as they were relaxed. Tension had been tight out there, he had been sure Cena was ready to come out there and beat his ass all over the ring. But so far, nothing.

Miz stopped in one of the side hallways, taking off his cap and wiping his slick forehead with the back of his hand. Damn, he couldn't even remember where the locker room was. So many arenas…and it didn't help that his adrenalin-rush had left him dizzy. This whole business was exhausting, and he decided right then that the next time he saw Cena, he was just going to tell him the truth.

Humiliation had to be better than inducing migraines.

Two strong hands seized him by the loose material of his shirt, whipping him around and slamming him against the wall. His had clattered to the floor. He lost his breath for a moment, trying to gather his wits as John Cena himself appeared in front of him. This was it, this was the confrontation he had been looking for! He opened his mouth to explain, to tell him that it was all a ruse, that he didn't mean a word of it. He was ready to admit his embarrassing secret, let it out.

John clamped a hand down over his mouth, cutting off any sound he would've made. The older man looked extremely pissed, handsome features twisted in a scowl. The other hand was balled into a fist, but he wasn't punched. Instead the thick forearm slammed down across his chest, pinning him effectively.

"You have a good time out there makin' an ass outta yourself?" John growled, digging the tips of his fingers into the younger man's cheek "Trying to make it out like _I'm_ a poser?"

Mike just stared at him with those wide ice blue eyes, imploring him to understand. Something softened on Cena's face, something resembling desire flickering in his own eyes. There was a moment when The Miz was sure he was dreaming, when John softened his touch to a brush of his palm against his face. John lowered his hand slowly, both memorizing every slide of flesh.

Cena stopped when the side of his hand brushed just beneath the swell of the other's lower lip, revealing the pink flesh of his mouth. There was a moment, that dreaming moment, when John leaned in for just a second.

Miz took in a shaky breath, thinking he was finally going to get what he wanted.

"You keep pushin', and I'm gonna break you" John hissed out "Yer gonna get yourself hurt, kid."

Miz found himself shoved down onto the ground, afraid to look up at the older man. He kept his eyes on the floor, listening to the heavy footsteps as Cena left.

When he was sure he was alone, Mike lifted his head and found his ball cap. He slid his fingers over the swell of it, gripping it tight and sliding it closer. He clutched it to his chest, trying not to cry and hoping to get his heart to slow down.

This wasn't going how he wanted…not one part of this was right.

Maybe he couldn't do this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry I split it up, but it was getting kind of big.**

**I've been given advice by a **_**very**_** enthusiastic reviewer that loved my big Cena/Swagger fic. She said that the whole written-out matches were kinda boring. It's just the way I write, but I took it to heart in all my fics. So I'm trying to summarize the match as best I can, but some things need to be written because it was a very passionate match. I'm sorry if you get a little bored, so feel free to skim for the UST-goodness between the body slamming and rope-slinging.**

**Also, forgive random POV changes.**

* * *

"This isn't _working_!" Miz shouted at his best friend, both pissed and tearful.

"Give it time" Morrison stated softly, trying not to rile the man up anymore than he already was.

"How _much_ time?" Miz barked "You don't understand, Johnny. He's going to _kill_ me before I ever even get a chance to tell him I love him!"

"Once he gets in the ring with you, he won't be able to resist."

John sounded so confident, so sure of himself…that Mike just had to deflate.

"Alright" the younger man stated "What…what do you think I should do now?"

"You're doing _fine_" John assured him "But turn it up a few more notches. Start taking people down in your matches, giving it more than a hundred percent. No mercy."

Miz nodded, lapping it up, "Ok, ok…I'll try."

_+++JCxMIZ+++_

And try he did.

Miz went kept the train going at full steam, shoving the proverbial coal into the furnace as fast as he could. He gave it all in his matches, mocking the losers, even wearing the Cenation gear more than once.

"_Step up to the plate, Cena!"_

The more Cena ignored him, the more determined he became. His matches left him completely exhausted, and every night he trudged back to his hotel room alone and disheartened. He spent his nights wondering if he was doing this the right way, his right hand his only company and even that was unappealing when he remembered the hate that he had seen in the man's eyes.

People started saying he was just trying to become a big hot by taking down a superstar, like he was trying to steal a piece of John Cena's spotlight for himself. Hell, he thought he had been doing good there for a while trying to carve out his own place away from Morrison, but obviously people thought this was a ruse. He didn't want to take down John! He just wanted to show him he cared, is that so horrible?

The more days went on, the more sleepless nights he had, the more he realized what a bad idea this was.

But it was it's own monster now, and he couldn't do a thing to slow it down.

So he shoveled that damn coal all the faster.

"_Seven and o."_

"_You're always saying you want some, come get some! I want the whole thing!"_

Those words were the closest to the truth that he'd get.

_+++JCxMIZ+++_

Two months, Cena finally decided enough was enough. He got out in the ring, and he called The Miz out this time. Mike was eager to accept, though he realized quickly the gear he wore wouldn't encourage a friendly encounter. All doubts about this plan were thrown out the window the moment John demanded he come out into the ring. So, even in his anti-Cena shirt, he went out there and got face-to-face with the man who he loved more and more everyday.

Too bad, Cena didn't look all that happy. They had a brief stare-off, eyes roaming over one another with different types of hunger.

"For two months now, you've come out every day runnin' your mouth, sayin' whatever the hell you want tryin' to get me rattled" Cena began, right in his face and passion in his voice "I put my life on the line in Hammerstein ballroom and came out in one piece. I was booed out of the hall of fame. I've had 85,000 people tell me I can't wrestle on the _grandest_ stage of them all!"

John stepped a bit closer, cocking his head as he stared directly into ice blue eyes, "I don't get _rattled_."

That was proven a bit false when his eyes flickered to the younger man's mouth when he wet his lips.

Miz gathered himself, keeping his persona rather than falling to his knees and begging for forgiveness, "You wanna know what I have to say this week, Cena?"

Miz slowly leaned in, stopping when they were just a few inches from one another's faces, "You're. A. _Cow-ard_."

The moment the words left his lips, he realized it had been a mistake. The camera caught his expression perfectly, the God-smacked look of someone who had said the exact wrong thing. He crossed a line there, and they both knew it. The entire audience knew it.

John pulled away, plastering on a _I can't believe you said that_ grin and shaking his head.

//Shit, John, I'm sorry.//

"Congratulations, you got your chance" Cena was charismatic again, back in his role. So The Miz came back, he grinned and nodded and looked overall smug for the fans.

"The good news is…" John pointed at him "The Miz will _main event_ a pay-per-view event, where he has a match with _me_."

John was still smiling, "The bad news is…The Miz has a main event pay-per-view match-"

Cena's voice dropped to a low growl, getting a few inches from the younger man gain, "-_with me._"

Mike pouted, this wasn't what he wanted at all. He wanted to drop to his knees again, only this time to try and wrap his mind around how badly things were going. But he stayed strong, he was in front of the crowd and he was supposed to be an entertainer first. He had to do something, and he had to do it fast.

Mike's poor nerves got to him, and he threw his mic at John before he could really think it through. He followed it up with a punch, heart breaking as his knuckles met the man's face. But John bounced right back, turning on him with rage in his eyes.

The Miz dove out of the ring, running up the ramp to put as much distance between them as he could. When he managed to turn and look back at the ring, John was laughing at him and his patheticness.

Not ten minutes later, Mike was curled up in the corner of one of the lounge rooms with his cellphone to his ear. He desperately waited for Morrison to pick up the phone, tears ready to spill down his cheeks.

"J-John?" Miz whispered into the receiver when his friend picked up "I..I did something bad."

_+++JCxMIZ+++_

After that instance, Cena paid much more attention to him. Miz found himself the one that was mocked now, John doing his little brush-off move just to offend him. The insults got stronger, the hate more palpable now. It brought bile to Mike's mouth, but it had to be done.

"_John Cena is a face of the past."_

"_The Real World Has Been canceled."_

"_This…is the money-maker of the present and future."_

"_You're not a reality show has-been…you're a WWE never-was."_

They confronted each other more in the ring as the date of The Bash got closer. Mike let himself get lost in his persona, deciding that if John was going to hate him he was going to give him a reason for that hate. He was pulled into a downward spiral that was _The_ _Miz_, and somehow he never saw how lost his cause was becoming. He returned nasty looks with even nastier ones, scowls with sneers, mocking laughter with mocking gestures. Standing over Cena's body and waving a hand over his face in a "_You Can't See Me_" way wasn't enough for him.

The closest thing he had to a moment of clarity was when he held the steel chair he had just beat Cena with over his head like a trophy, and even then all he could do was drop it like it burned him.

_+++JCxMIZ+++_

//What the hell am I doing?//

That was the only thought of The Miz as he made his way down the ramp, trying to keep on his game face as he presented himself. But the doubt, the worry, leaked through his eyes like runny paint. Despite his anti-Cena shirt, despite the mocking phrase his armbands read, he didn't want to be here. His pacing, his brushing off of Cena's name, his 'come get it' gesture when Cena's music came on…it all meant nothing.

//Maybe I can still fix this// Miz tried to psyche himself up, stripping off his shirt and watching John make his entrance //I'll give it my all, get in a few gropes, and he'll see that he wants me too. He'll see that I'm real competition, and like Shawn Michaels…I'll have him in my bed tonight. Then I can show him my heart, and he'll want it too.//

That was the plan at first…cold-cut, straight forward.

Play The Miz and get Cena.

Seduce John, and Mike gets what his heart longs for.

Miz wished the crowd would tone it down a bit, their roar for Cena was mixing with the pounding of his own heart and he was scared a migraine would overtake him again.

John locked eyes with him, refusing to look away as he stripped off his shirt. Miz's mouth went dry at this, but he tried to stay strong. He tried to put up a front, looking eager for a fight when all he could think of were those rippling muscles. Paler skin than you saw on most wrestlers, bulging biceps…god, he couldn't breath for a moment.

All he could feel was that muscled weight pressing him down into a mattress, that dimpled grin against his neck right before those pearly whites bit down into his vulnerable flesh, that thick waist settled between his own spread thighs…

Ok, stop that.

The crowd started chanting Cena's name, and Miz really couldn't blame them.

The first 30 seconds of the fight, Miz was slammed down on his back by the older man and he couldn't stop himself from thinking, //I like where this is going.//

The crowd was quick to boo him, so he summoned up some rage so he could attack the man he loved. Again, slammed on his back, knee attacked. John watched him, calm, memorizing him like a snake would an energetic bunny. A charge, and once more he was flipped down on his back, this time his left arm stomped on a little harder than necessary. It hurt, but he managed to shake it off.

Miz was losing his cool, his confidence, and he couldn't stop it.

John was just playing with him now.

When he tried to deliver a punch, he got flipped and snagged in a headlock.

//Fuck, I don't like where this going anymore!//

"Goddamnit" Miz muttered into John's thick arm, pressing up and raking at the man's eyes. This pulled a growl from the other, he was forced to let go by the ref. Cena dragged him to his feet, taking him into the ropes. Some moves were exchanged, mostly Miz was just played with, and it only ended up with him on his back again in a headlock.

An attempted pin, but he broke out of it.

Miz was tossed around like the proverbial sack of grain, tossed into the ropes. His attempted maneuvers were used against him, a takedown, a hip toss, and his body was aching. It was getting frustrating, so he eventually snagged the ropes and slowed down the momentum enough for him to make a move.

When Cena bent down to try a flip, Miz simply kicked him in the chin. His kick slapped off the man's thick pectoral instead, and John straightened up with a look of mild amusement on his face. He shook his head, indicating he barely even felt it.

Miz stared at the older man with wide eyes, "Fuck no."

He slid out of the ring, leading the older man in a chase to the other side of the ring. He hopped back in, using the distraction as a way to take back the match. He got in a few hits, even able to slingshot him off the ropes and slapped him into the canvas.

It hurt Mike's heart to concentrate on an area of John that had been injured so many times, but he kept telling himself that this would get him his man at the end of the day.

Yeah, he kept telling himself that as he pinned his opponent against the turnbuckles.

Mike's heart kicked up three notches when he felt John's hand lay over his shoulder blade, right as he rammed his shoulder into his gut. That damp hand trailed down his back in a firm caress, much more than a brush. It's intent wasn't hidden, the width of his palm slid all the way down to the low ride of his wrestling pants. It was fast enough to look real to the cameras, for this was a live event, but it made his blood run hot in his veins.

Two could play at that game.

Miz grabbed the ropes and played under the guise of a body slam. He fit his entire body against the older man's, grinding against him and letting his mouth brush against the older man's temple.

Miz's heart nearly burst in his chest when there was a low hiss of _whore_ in his ears from the other.

But the fight had to go on. Miz managed to get a two-count after flying off the top rope to deliver a hit to the back of the man's head. But it was kicked out. He managed to keep a handle on the fight, giving back for being tossed around like an amateur earlier. A little more offense, two attempted pins, a focus on his neck…he even managed to kick him right out of the ring. But he got the man back in, and went for a pin.

Nothing.

In all the offense, Miz found himself looking down at Cena spread out at his feet. John's hand curled around his boot, and he couldn't stop himself from being a little more than turned on at the sight. He pulled him to his feet and punched him square in the jaw, but it still meant Cena was on his feet. Miz reached out and cupped the older man's chin, aiming another punch.

John took back the match in a few seconds. The crowd went wild, and he was beaten down by the much stronger man. Slammed again…and again…and again…until he was slammed down with all his strength, and that was it for him.

"I'm been waiting to do this for a long time!" John shouted at the crowd, they were going wild "_Long_ time!"

There was a moment John almost _did_ loose his cool. He went to set up the Five-Knuckle-Shuffle and happened to look down, pausing at the sight. Mike's face was scrunched up in pain, little whines of pain escaping his lips. He was squirming on the mat, and Cena couldn't stop but watch with hungry eyes as those powerful legs crooked and spread in an almost subconsciously seductive way.

But he gave the crowd what he wanted. He waved his hand over his face, set up the move, and landed it firmly, all while the fans screamed.

Miz jolted up onto his feet, clutching at his head blindly. This was wrong, this was wrong. Mike realized right then that everything he'd done was wrong, everything was horribly wrong and he had to change it. That cruel word still clung to him, he'd been called worse by better people…but to hear John call him a whore, it cut him deep. And now-

John easily scooped him up in an Attitude Adjustment, though he thrashed wildly.

"John, listen!" Miz begged in the man's ear, trying to grasp onto him so he wouldn't be thrown "I didn't mean it to be like _this_, I didn't want this!"

John gave him a look of disbelief, then heaved him in a slam.

John circled around him, grabbing the younger man's foot and rolling him onto his belly. He tucked and clamped, twisting The Miz into a STF-U. This little whore thought he could tease him like this? Fuck that, he'd make him tap.

Miz's face twisted up in pain again, the pressure on his head too much. His leg was gong to snap in half if he didn't do something soon.

"John" Mike choked out, knowing he had to say something "I mean it! This was a stupid mistake! I just wanted to-"

"_Tap_!" John barked, not wanting to hear it.

Miz nodded, tapping out on the mat. The bell chimed loudly in his ears, signaling his defeat.

John let him go, sitting beside him with a huff.

"I didn't mean it, I didn't mean a word of it" Miz confessed, in a lot of pain but knowing this was his last chance to speak out for himself "It was just a fucking show. I don't hate you, John, I-"

But Cena stood up, leaving him alone. He gave his little signs to the crowd, proud in his triumph over the villain of his this tale. He got up on the ropes, flexed, screamed, and they ate up every bit like caramel off an apple.

//M-maybe there's still a chance…?// Mike wondered pathetically, really hoping this wasn't the end. He felt broken and sore all over, he couldn't move from this spot. His knee was on fire, he must've twinged it again. Maybe John was just putting up face for the fans? Maybe later, they'd meet calmly, and he could just explain it all away.

Mike lifted his head enough to watch Cena pass him, and he tried one last time.

"J-John?" he rasped, looking up at the older man pleadingly.

If he'd just listen, then maybe-

John walked in front of him, pausing nearly right in front of his face. He wiped his feet, and his heart shattered into a thousand sharp pieces.

People laughed, they _laughed_ at this horrible gesture. John wiped his feet off like he was trash, like he was nothing more than problem that had to be struck down. He watched John walk away, tears slowly blurring up his vision. He ducked his head, folding his hands over the back of his head and pressing his forehead into the mat.

That was it, it was over.

He listened to the playbacks of the match, listened to the comments and the crowd roar. They were all so happy, their champion had won and all was right with the world.

Miz lifted his head, looking up at John. The man was standing at the top of the ramp, grinning at him. John saluted him, grinning. Mike gave him a look that could've broken hearts by itself, the absolute disgust he felt with everything showing through. He rolled out of the ring, and Cena was long gone by the time he eased to the floor.

His knee was on fire, and he found himself limping. Miz looked around at the crowd, the way they booed him, the way some of them still chanted _Cena_ like he was God. Even King and Cole were laughing at his misfortune, commenting about him being the thing the cat dragged in.

Miz scowled, tears ready to fall the moment he was alone.

What gave them the right to be so Goddamn happy?!


	3. Chapter 3

**I just love me some Miz-angst, it's hot and cute and pouty…and so easy.**

* * *

Mike stood in front of one of the vanity's in his shared dressing room (Carlito and Primo had already left for the hotel.) He had managed to change out of his wrestling gear, but he forwent a shower for a heavy hooded jacket and a pair of baggy jeans. He didn't want to be naked now, not really. A vertigo-induced part of him thought if he didn't take off his clothes and didn't show off his body he'd be proving Cena wrong somehow. God, did John think he did that with every wrestler?

Maybe he did. Maybe he was a nasty tease and didn't know.

Mike gazed into the mirror, giving his appearance a long, hard look. He reached up, smoothing his fingers through his hair idly to break the hold of the gel he had spent so long applying not even an hour ago.

What in God's name had ever possessed him to think someone like John Cena could want him? Everything Morrison had told him was a lie. He had no appeal, he proved that these past weeks by going out there and being a loud-mouthed brat. He knew he had failed epically with the plan.

Even worse than not being noticed and living in a shadow?

John hating him.

Frustration and ire built up a potent mixture in his belly, churning at a rolling boil and spreading throughout all his limbs. John hated him, completely and utterly. Never again would that dimpled grin be aimed at him, nor those strong arms around him. John thought he was nothing more than a wrestling-chasing-cum-guzzling whore, that he made clear by wiping his feet at his head like he was trash.

A snarl twisted his features.

"It's not fair!" Mike bellowed, whipping around and snagging the metal chair off the floor by it's back.

Without an ounce of hesitation, he backed up a few steps and hurled the chair into the mirror. It didn't quite fly like it did in the movies. The surface cracked like that of a hard-boiled egg, collapsing in on itself to reveal the dull grey beneath. A few chips clattered to the vanity, but nothing came at him. He was almost disappointed, he had wanted to be cut a little.

He deserved it.

Mike sighed in defeat, all his rage melting away to leave only a crestfallen hollowness. He had the absent thought of putting his hood over his head and curling up in the corner, but sooner or later someone would walk in and find the pitiful remnants that were once _The_ _Miz_ scattered all around him. No one needed that, especially him. He'd just have to get out of here, collapse somewhere safer.

Somewhere John's hate couldn't touch him more than mentally.

Miz tugged his bag over his shoulder, heart heavy and knee throbbing. He left, his limp only slight but enough to bother him. If he just got to his car…if he just kept his eye son the floor, no one could see his kicked puppy look. No one could see how much that match fucked him up on the inside.

Someone bumped into him roughly, sending him into the wall. His shoulder was jostled painfully, making him wince.

"Nice match" came the familiar drawl, then a snickered "_Loser_."

Miz looked up in time to see Ted DiBiase saunter past him, smirking like the smug brat he was.

//He's only that cocky cause he's rich and has Orton on a leather leash.//

Despite his bitter thoughts, Mike felt tears roll down his cheeks. He roughly palmed them away, but they kept coming. He ducked his head and continued, deciding to go through the scarcely used entrance to the parking lot (it was out of the way.)

He _was_ a loser, by every sense of the word. A big loser, dunce cap included. Somehow he had tripped and stumbled into a love he didn't deserve, wanted someone so far out of his league it was laughable. Mike had gone through this blindly, groping and clawing for ways to get Cena's attention.

He did everything wrong, from beginning to end…and you can't much wronger than that.

He started a feud when he should have just listened to his instincts to man-up, he should have cornered John in the locker room and confessed everything. Being let down gently with a "_You're great, but let's just be friends_" would've been less painful than this hollowed-out sense of failure.

Insulting and mocking someone was no way to gain trust, no way to show affection.

Mike cursed himself for ever listening to Morrison, //Stupid glitter butt.//

He wiped at his slick cheeks again, //Come on, Mizanin. No one looks pretty when they cry.//

Miz entered the hall that led out into the parking lot, scowling when he saw that almost half of the parking lots lights had gone out. Of course it was the section his car was in, why not?

//Watch me fuckin' trip and fall and die down here// Mike thought bitterly, willing his leg to stop hurting as he made his way toward where he was pretty sure his rental was //I'd deserve it, after the ass I've been.//

He could almost hear his mother's voice in the back of his head telling him not to think like that, but it was overpowered by his father's mocking laughter about how fags always got what they deserved in the end.

Loneliness.

The door he had walked through not a minute ago opened up noisily behind him, announcing someone.

"Mizanin!"

And that announced someone had been following him.

Mike hurried his step, just managing to get in a few feet of his car before a hand clamped down on his shoulder. He was twisted around painfully, coming face to face with Cena of all people.

His heart swelled up with hope, "John-"

"You think you're fucking funny?" John growled.

His heart plummeted and re-shattered in his belly, pricking him and seeping into his guts like splinters.

"You won, isn't that enough?" Miz pleaded, wanting it all to be over "You beat me, Cena, alright?"

"Well what the hell did you expect?" John scoffed "You went out there and ran your mouth about me for weeks! Did you think I wouldn't retaliate? Did you think I was just gonna look the other way!?"

Mike chewed his lower lip, averting his eyes, "I tried to tell you…I didn't…"

"Look at me!" John barked, startling the younger man so badly he jumped. Ice blue eyes locked with dark azure, and sparks danced between them. Cena lowered his voice now, hurt in his tone.

"Why did you start all this bad blood?" John asked, searching those scared ice orbs "What did you wanna gain out of this? Fans? Ratings? Status?"

Mike shook his head, throat closed up.

"Did I ever do something to deserve this fucking shit?" John gestured outward, indicating the whole business that had gone down "Every week you had something else bad to say about me! We started out great, I thought you were a good kid, but then you go and show me you're this asshole!"

John kept yelling at him, calling him horrible things, defensive.

Something broke inside him, and he couldn't stop the tears that shined in his eyes.

"Did it ever occur to you I was just trying to get your attention!?" Miz snapped heatedly, cutting the other off completely "Did you ever think that maybe I loved you and had no idea how to say it?!"

Mike turned and limped to the car, tears slicking his cheeks. He kept his head down, trying to hide them from the other. His hand hadn't touched the door before he was turned again, though this time much gentler. He tried to keep his head turned away, but John caught his jaw and forced him to look. Their eyes met, and yet again he hated that he was so weak.

"Do you mean that?" Cena inquired, shocked to see tears on the young man's face.

"Yes" Miz sighed, closing his eyes "If you're going to hit me again, do it quick."

Instead of a punch to the face, a calloused thumb brushed his tears away.

"You love me…" John sighed, the other looking at him curiously "That explains it."

"What?"

"People have been trying to get in my pants by feuding with me for years, but I've always turned them down" John explained gently "Who told you this would work?"

Miz didn't even bother lying, "Morrison."

The older man sighed, "Tell that brat to quit giving advice and eat a sandwich."

Miz tried to hold back a chuckle but failed.

"See, there you are" John grinned at him "There's Mike…The Miz does not fit you."

"It's who I am" Mike pulled his face out of Cena's grip, leaning against the car for support "So what? I embarrass the hell out of myself and suddenly everything's ok?"

That dimpled grin was aimed at him, "What would you say if I told you I was week away from asking you out to dinner when you started this feud?"

"What?!" Miz snapped, glaring at the other with heated accusation "If this is some pity shit, I'm gonna stick my foot so far up your ass-"

"Calm down!" John tried not to laugh, glad to see the way the younger man immediately settled "I liked that shy kid who couldn't meet my eyes when I handed him his fedora. For the first time in a while, I saw someone real. You got headaches, you had good days, you laughed at the same stupid shit I did. And I thought, _Here's someone who's real_. I wanted to get closer to you, 'cause when I was around I couldn't breath. And I loved it."

Miz found himself backed up against the car, the man's greater body pinning him effectively. His voice was a low husk now, right in his ear. Violent shivers went through him at the implication, at the hope.

"I wanted you" John admitted, lust flashing in his eyes as he pulled away to look into the younger man's face "I still want you."

"You'd still want me?" Mike questioned softly "After hurting each other like this?"

"Why not?"

Miz gasped as his mouth was taken in a fierce kiss, getting his first real taste of John Cena. He tried to respond, but it took a prolonged moment before his brain would accept what was going on. But when he did, they found a natural rhythm together. Tongues tangled, hands came up and over one another. Mike managed to get his hands on those broad shoulders, pulling him closer while those thick arms curled and wrapped themselves around his waist.

Time flittered away, leveled down to the hushed ruffle of their clothes and soft panting.

//This is going too fast// Mike tried to reason with himself, shuddering when John's large palm drifted down his waist with the goal of his ass in mind //I love it, though. Just take what you want, do it.//

"Do you know how hot you looked laid out in front of me?" John whispered against his lips, cupping the younger's man ass and giving it a firm squeeze "Those stupid sparkly pants stretched tight over your ass? I could barely control myself in that ring."

"I'm not a whore" Mike dug his fingers into the older man's shoulder, making his point when he hissed at the pain "I don't do this with everyone. Just you, jackass."

"I didn't mean it" John stated honestly.

"There's a lot of that going on lately."

Miz forced their mouths together, taking what he wanted to have claim him. Their bodies ground together like they knew one another, groins meeting and even more unbearable heat flashing through them.

Want. Need. Have.

"You wanna start something?" Miz growled, fingers raking through the older man's short hair "You better fucking finish it."

"Right here?"

"Right. Here."

John flipped him around, crowding him up against the car. Mike's heart was ready to beat out of his chest, excitement hot in his veins. Hands worked open his belt, tugging at his fly with a sense of urgency that set his own into a flurry. This was gonna happen right now, here in this public parking lot, and it was turning him on something fierce.

"We'll do this now" John spoke in his ear, hot breath teasing the flesh "We'll do this your way. But when we get out of here, don't think you're getting away from me. We're gonna go back to my room, and I'm gonna show you what I've been wanting to do for weeks."

Thank God he had a packet of lube in his wallet, or this would've ended.

Lube-slicked fingers worked their way inside him, starting with one and adding as hisses of pain turned into a low moans of _yesmorefuck_! His pants were clinging to his lower thighs, holding him in place.

"I'm gonna lay you out and take my time, taste every inch of you" John mouthed at the back of his neck, teeth barely scraping the sensitive flesh "Show you this isn't gonna be a one-time thing, and I'm serious."

"I believe you" Mike nodded, eager to get his release now that his cock was all but pressed against the cold metal car door "But we can't draw _this_ one out."

John nodded, understanding. He ran his hand up the younger man's back, wanting to see himself breach him, when he spotted growing bruises on the tan skin. Discolored, painful.

"I'm sorry" John murmured, dropping a kiss on the nearest one "I couldn't help myself. I wanted so badly to take you there in front of more than 10,000 people, and you looked so pretty on your back underneath me…I should've been more aware. Do they hurt?"

Miz shook his head, touched by the concern.

"I'll make sure you forget all about these last couple months" John swore, knowing he was going to pamper this neglected boy the way he deserved once they were alone.

Right now? It was about getting off, both of them finding bodily pleasure.

Miz arched and mewled as the wide girth pierced him, though Cena kept his movements slow enough for him to adjust. It burned, but he had never felt something so purely delicious. He braced his hands on the car, those muscular arms he had admired so much were still curled around his waist, supporting him. In a few moments John was completely seated inside him, pulsing and just teasing the fleshy spot inside him.

"Shit" John cursed, raking his teeth along the younger man's dancing jugular "So tight, Mike."

"I don't just give it up to anyone, _John_" Miz teased breathlessly, rocking back hard enough to cause the other to grunt "And you better give me a reason not to, or I swear I'll make you wait until you drive me to the hotel."

The challenge sent John's head spinning, he knew he liked this boy for a reason.

Their pace was harsh, fast, sweat breaking out on their skin and cheeks flushing. It took John a couple tries, but he soon got the right angle that made Mike go crazy. The brunette threw his head back, wailing at the ceiling, pleasure burning through him.

John brought one hand up to cover the younger man's mouth, nipping him sharply below the ear.

"Don't scream, baby" John cooed in his ear, the other trembling as he pushed right up against that spot inside him and stayed there "If you start screaming, I'm going to throw you in the back seat of this car and have you there. Cause I ain't gonna let no one see this but _me_."

A hard thrust punctuated the word, Miz nodded silently.

John's hand slipped from his face, and they started moving again.

A handful of minutes later, Miz found his release all over the rental car. John groaned loudly as he watched the silky streams paint the metal, wishing longingly he could have a taste.

Later.

John found his release not four thrusts later, spilling himself deep inside The Miz. He dug his teeth into the back of his neck, knowing he already had a craving for the taste and look of marking the young superstar. He leaned against him, his pants bathing and cooling the slick shoulders.

It took a full minute for them to recover from the passionate encounter.

John eased out of the younger man, petting his abused hips appreciatively, "God damn, but you're beautiful."

"You're…just…" Miz gulped down a mouth of oxygen, trying to ease his pounding heart "You're just saying that because you fucked me."

"And I will say it again and again and again" John fixed both their pants, giving that cute butt a little pat "And _again_…until you believe me."

Mike turned around, finding himself in the older man's arms again.

"You really mean this?" Miz inquired, a little afraid to know the answer.

"Yeah, I do" John placed a chaste kiss on his lips, getting a surprised look from the other "Do you want it? Do you wanna give this whole relationship thing a try?"

"It'll just be…_us_, right?" ice blue eyes narrowed at him "I'm not going to share you."

"Ooo, possessive-kink" Cena waggled his eyebrows suggestively, running his palm down the dip of the Demon of Desire's back "Something else we have in common, baby."

That nickname sent a jolt through Mike, trying to stir his spent cock.

"Then let's get back to the hotel" Miz traced the older man's exposed neckline with the tips of his fingers "And we'll figure out a few more things we have in common.

A few more minutes of this eye-fucking and they'd be ready to go again.

Fuckin' Cody Rhodes decided to walk by that row of cars in _just_ that moment.

Cody paused, staring at them with wide eyes, "Uh…you guys aren't going to fight right here, are you?"

The innocent question through them off, and they stepped away from one another.

"Nah, kid" John waved it off.

Cody sighed in relief, nearly dropping his duffle bag, "Oh good, I thought I was going to have to break it up."

Miz glanced at Cena, //Is this kid for real? Does he not smell sex?//

"John, I was actually coming to look for you" Cody perked, then pouted "Teddy's still angry at me for not defending him tonight, he won't even touch me! And Randy wanted to go '_celebrate_' with Edge because of their wins. He told me to find my own ride, so…do you think I could tag along for a trip to the hotel?"

"Find a cab" Miz snapped before thinking, hoisting his duffle strap onto his shoulder.

"Cabs are icky" Cody's nose crinkled "_Pleeeeeeeease_ John?"

"You know what, kid? I'll do you one better" John plucked the rental keys from Mike's pocket, walking over and jingling them in front of the much younger man "I'll give you this car, so you can drive for yourself. It runs well, you'll be fine."

"Really, John?" Cody beamed at him, voice breathless as he snatched the keys "Thank you! God, you're so nice to me! I owe you for this!"

"Consider it a freebie" John grabbed Miz by the strap of his bag, pulling him past the youngest member of Legacy "See you later, kid!"

"Bye John!"

When they were halfway to Cena's car, Mike leaned in and whispered in the man's ear, "So how long will it take for him to realize my jizz is all over the car?"

"Innocent kid like that? Probably never."

"CENA?!!"

Miz and John ducked and snickered all the way to their car.

Yeah, this was going to be fun.

* * *

**A big thanks to ****Nyx Raisa ****(who I love as my personal "**_**you messed up here, but the rest was great**_**" person) for introducing me to this couple in the first place! I started this long before my Miz/Jack fics, but I hope you don't mind sharing Miz with Cena too! **

**And to sarisynn, who's fic "**_**Say It Again**_**" boosted me to keep writing this fic pat the third scene (seriously, I was ready to scrap it after Morrison gave Miz advice, it was sitting on my desktop for at least a month.) I love you, you precious thing! That thing was so well-written, and I'm pretty sure I commented. **

**And love to those of you who see this pairing and love it, and **_**hopefully **_**(if not just to beat my own ego) want to write a little Miz/Cena fic of your own *shameless nudge***

**R&R if you feel the need! If just to say "**_**that actually didn't suck**_**" or "**_**You messed up really bad in this paragraph, let me point it out to you**_**" **

**Much obliged.**


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